One Door Away from Heaven
by A Most Random Author
Summary: It seems I took the wrong door and ended up reborn into the Harry Potter Universe. Let’s see where this takes me.


_9/4/88_

 _Dear Journal,_

 _My counselor told me I should write in here to help with my depression, and I should write something every day, or at the very least once a week. I should write my problems down, and then when I close the book, I'm done with those problems. She's not going to read it, not is she going to ask about it any more than 'Are you writing?' Since nobody is going to read this other than me, I guess I can give you some background. Tell you why I'm having such a hard time._

 _The first thing I remember is seeing my mom get attacked and killed when I was 3. Then I was dumped in the orphanage and not given any psychiatric help. I was pretty quiet and I didn't like being touched -I still don't to this day- and would have a panic attack whenever somebody touched me. I've discovered that it's slightly better if my skin isn't touched directly, but I still don't like it._

 _Throughout the years I've been mostly ignored by the kids and any attention I did get from them was always negative. Weird stuff sometimes happened around me, and that made the kids hate me even more. With that, I surrounded myself with books. I read any book I could get my hands on. History, science, classical literature, fantasy, poetry, satire, romance, mystery, horror- I read them all._

 _Apparently my lack of socialization has been concerning the caretakers and my teachers at school, so they signed me up to see counselor. I started seeing her almost a year ago but I don't think she's really helped any. I'll admit I am depressed, and that my dislike of being touched is probably a phobia, but I'm fine. Everyone is making it seem like a bigger problem than what it really is._

 _This is just the short version, but I really don't feel like explaining everything. I'll try to write again soon_.

 _Ana_ _Rosenburg_

I remember dying. Painfully. I was attacked in an alleyway and left to bleed out from a single stab to the stomach area. Which I did.

After that was a bit of a blur. The was a feeling of being squished and squashed and pushed through a really small space. Its very uncomfortable, let me tell you. It took a little while, but I realized what happened fairly quickly.

I didn't disbelieve in reincarnation, but I didn't quite believe in it either. I believed we had souls, and when we died the souls were split into separate souls and put into new bodies. Not reincarnation exactly, but more like the conservation of energy. The energy we build up during our life, aka our soul, can't just vanish. So the energy splits and put back into a cycle and reused. The split energy then collects more energy during the person's lifetime, then the cycle repeats. I was shocked at remembering my life, but the reincarnation itself wasn't that much of a shock.

The first clue I had to being born in a different world was when I looked into a mirror for the first time. I had dark raven hair and silvery blue eyes. I was somewhat disappointed. I was hoping I would have hair like my Mom - her hair was a beautiful blond and looked like spun gold that glowed when the sun hit it. As I thinking that, I saw something change in the mirror. When I looked back I saw my hair was no longer dark. It was now golden like Mom's.

After showing my Mom my new trick - she was very excited - and I started to really think about my ability. Stuff like this was impossible in my old world so I was probably not in the same world. If I wasn't in the same world, then which one was I in? Maybe I was in a world where superpowers were normal. Maybe I was reborn into the Marvel or DC Universe? Honestly though, I really didn't care. Both Universes seem to end up fine, aside from a few apocalypses. That and - depending on what year it is - I'll probably be too old or too young to make a difference. Though being born in a fictional world sounded too much like a fanfic to be real.

I finally found out what world I was in years later. It was a cold Sunday morning when an owl flew through our kitchen window. I laughed a bit at it, thinking it was just a clumsy bird. Then, to my shock, my Mom took a letter from a container on the owl's leg. I'd never seen her do this before. Then again, I wasn't a fan of getting out of bed before 9. She opened the letter and skimmed it then stifled a cry. She stood up and hurriedly cleaned up our breakfast, then walked over to pick me up before seemingly remembering that I don't like being touched.

She walked to the front door and called for me to follow, then helped me put on my coat. Then we walked over to our neighbor's house and told our neighbors, Miss Hollis and Miss Ashley, that a family emergency had just happened and they needed someone to watch me for the day. These old ladies often watched me when my Mom went to turn in her… something. She worked at home writing something, and once a month she went to turn whatever it was in.

She left me with our elderly neighbors, then rushed off. My mind was spinning as I just got a boatload of new information. I was rather occupied and quiet the entire day, which didn't really concern my watchers. They tried to avoid talking about why my Mom rushes off, but honestly I was too preoccupied to notice.

It was November First and something bad happened last night. The news was delivered by owl. I could change my appearance. My Mom's lack of shock at my ability. Her avoidance of explaining her job to other people. Her lack of a fashion sense. Pieces were coming together, but there's no way I could be right.

When my mother picked me up that night and we were safely in our house, she broke down crying. Sobbing about how James, Lily, and Peter were dead, how Harry faced down the Dark Lord and survived, and that Sirius was in Azkaban for betraying them. With that, I couldn't deny it anymore. I was in the Harry Potter Universe. It was unbelievable! It was something you'd read in a fanfiction, not something that actually happens!

I was in shock. This- this couldn't be happening. I moved in autopilot for the rest of the night, and when I was going to bed, I could see my Mom downing an entire bottle of what I assumed was some kind of alcohol. I would've thought it was wine a few days early, but now it might be firewhisky.

Call me cold-hearted, but I was leaving her to her sadness. She had never told me about magic, about Hogwarts, or anything. She'd never told me about these people, and I've been rather isolated in my time in this universe so I'd never seen someone die. Not in this life at least. So trying to comfort her about her friend's death would have been strange. So I didn't.

I did feel guilty about it, but I was in shock too. I went to bed, but didn't sleep. I just laid there, staring at the dark ceiling. After a while, I heard a thump downstairs. I ignored it, as it was probably just my Mom being drunk. After laying there for even longer and being unable to sleep, I got up and grabbed a blanket from the closet. I'll just get some water, put a blanket over Mom, then try again to sleep. As I wandered down the stairs and into the lounge, I saw something I wish I'd never seen.

There was a shadowy man standing over my Mom with something sharp in one his hands. It looked like a knife, dripping blood. I dropped the blanket and froze. The man turned towards me, his eyes seeming to glow in the low light. He stalked towards me and I stood still, frozen by fear. It seemed the only thing I could do was scream.

So I did.

He reached out towards me, and, finally able to move, I stumbled backwards and fell over. He reached me before I could get away and wrapped his hands around my neck. I couldn't breathe, and I struggled as much as I could. I punched, I kicked, and I screamed. There was a sharp pain in my side and I screamed even more. The man continued to squeeze my neck, and my lungs burned. Stars started appearing in my vision, then everything went black.

Things kept fading in and out - a loud siren, a steady beeping, quiet chattering in the background - and when I finally came back to consciousness, I was in the hospital. The static white ceiling, the heart monitor, and the uncomfortable bed made it quite clear.

The nurse walked in and gasped when she saw me. She seemed surprised to see me awake, or at least awake and not crying my eyes out. She leaned out of the door frame and hollered something, then came back and smiled. She asked how I was doing, if I was feeling better, but I cut her off.

I asked if my Mom was dead, and the nurse's smile became strained. She nodded and confirmed that my Mom didn't survive. I felt cold and kind of dead inside. I had just realizing that I had born into a formerly fictional world, and now I saw my Mom and murdered and the killer tried to murder me as well.

Maybe I was just really unlucky. Or maybe I wasn't supposed to exist in this world. I didn't want to die though. I died too soon last time, and almost died again. I wanted to be an author in my last life, and was pursuing a literature major when I was killed. This time, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I still wanted to write a book, but I also wanted to research the history of this world. How magic worked as well as the full history of the Wizarding world. I came out of my thoughts to see someone new entering my room.

She introduced herself as Miss Atwood, my social worker. She explained that she would take me back to my house to collect my things, and then take me to my new home. I wasn't looking forward to it, as foster houses/orphanages don't really have a good reputation in the Potterverse. But there was nothing I could do to change what would happen.

True to her word, when I was released from the hospital after my Mom's funeral, it was into her care. She took me to my house and let me put clothes into a suitcase and pick a few toys to take with me to wherever I was going. I stuffed as many long sleeved shirts and long pants into the suitcase as I could, then threw several pairs of socks into the bag and grabbed my favorite boots.

I didn't have that many toys, and I much preferred books once I could read. Miss Atwood helped me load several books into a box, laughing at how many I had and wanted to bring with me. I ended up only taking a small amount of books, mostly a few series, with me, and she said the rest would stay here, and if I wanted to swap out books I could, all I had to do was ask her. Since the house belonged to my mom, it now belonged to me as well as all her belongings, as stated in her will. I would get to claim everything once I come of age, but until then it would remain under Miss Atwood's watch.

I grabbed a few things that belonged to my Mom, such as a heart shaped locket with a star engraved on the top right and had a picture of me and Mom inside, as well as a small hair pin with flowers. I asked Miss Atwood if we could put the rest of the jewelry in the bank. Break-ins were a thing and I didn't want to chance her valuables being stolen.

Right before I finished packing up, I grabbed the gloves my Mom had gotten me for my birthday. They were rather thin yet thick enough to provide a barrier between me and others. I was going to start school next year and I needed to be able to be around other people without panicking. I wasn't too happy about it, and I'd rather be homeschooled, but that wasn't an option. Especially now.

Miss Atwood was helping me move my suitcase to the car when her hand brushed up against my wrist. My mind went blank for a moment and I screamed. The next thing I knew, I was on the the ground shaking with Miss Atwood worriedly standing over me.

She reached out to help me up but I skittered backwards and sobbed out that she not touch me. She pulled back her hand, then briskly walked to her car and pulled out a blanket and came back. She gently set it overtop of me and sat down on the sidewalk next to me.

She waited till I stopped crying then asked if I felt better. I said no, to which she replied that that was fine, it would take time to come to terms with what has happened. She then asked if I wanted to continue moving things, or did I want to sit there. I chose to sit there on the sidewalk, and she kept moving things.

After my stuff was packed up and loaded into the car, I climbed in the passenger seat as Miss Atwood got behind the wheel of the car. She reached a hand out to me, as if to pat my head or something, but stopped when I flinched.

She withdrew her hand and turned back to the road. She told me I could talk to her about anything. She also said she'd be checking up on me every so often in my new home to make sure I was doing alright.

I wasn't sure where I was going, but I did know wherever it was I should probably keep the existence of Magic a secret. That meant keeping a close check on my metamorphagus ability and any accidental magic.

After what felt like a long trip, the car pulled up to a tall brick building that looked eerily familiar. A woman in a long black dress and a white collar came out and walked up to the car. She asked if we were Miss Atwood and Meridiana Rosenburg, and when Miss Atwood confirmed, she introduced herself as Mary Morris, a caretaker at Wool's Orphanage. I started shaking.

This was Wool's Orphanage, where Voldemort grew up. This was not a good place. I didn't want to go in, and Miss Atwood took my reluctance to get out as fear of the building. She said she'd go in with me and help me set up my room.

She carried the suitcase while I carried the box of socks and shoes. Walking through the place, I could see why Voldemort hated it so much. It was like a prison, no, I think a prison would have more personality than this place.

My room was on the third floor, with a window overlooking the back of the orphanage. The room was tiny, with just a bed, closet, desk, and small bookshelf. Once I put my books on the bookshelf the room gained a bit more personality, but it was still like a cell.

Miss Atwood said she'd be back in a week to see how I was settling in, then bent down to give me a hug but stopped when I flinched backwards. She stopped, then squatted down to my level and promised that she'd be back in a week, and I should try to make friends with the other kids.

She then left and shut the door to my room. I could see the shadows under the door and there was a faint murmuring behind the door. I suspected that Miss Atwood was telling Mary Morris about my dislike of being touched. Probably advising her to keep a close eye on me too.

After the sound of talking stopped, I was left to my thoughts in my room. I didn't want to meet the kids here, and quite frankly, I didn't want to be here at all. I crawled on the bed -it was very lumpy- and tried to sleep. Hopefully things would be better one I woke up.


End file.
